


Egg Salad Stains

by abarelyfunctioning



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, M/M, One Shot, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abarelyfunctioning/pseuds/abarelyfunctioning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock reads the neat writing:<br/><i>Pardon the egg salad stains, but I'm in love.</i></p><p>Sherlock falls in love.</p><p> </p><p>Inspired by <i>Marginalia</i> by Billy Collins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the poem, Marginalia, read it. It's beautiful.
> 
> Non-Beta'd. Not Brit-picked.  
> I've no idea how the British education system works, so this universe is loosely based on the one I'm most familiar with - the US education system.
> 
> BBC Sherlock doesn't belong to me, nor does the poem. I don't get anything out of this work.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading this.

Sherlock stares at the paragraph.

It’s not the most fascinating book in the world. No, it's boring and a great waste of his precious brain capacity. Honestly, he would have put it down after skimming through the first paragraph and returned to his Advanced Chemistry textbook instead. But he’s failing English Lit - not because he’s bad at it, but because he never bothers trying in the class. He just doesn’t care for literature. Because he’s failing so horribly, his equally horrible brother has taken away all of his experiments from his room until Sherlock shows that he is trying in the class. After all, he should at least graduate high school.

 _Catcher in the Rye_. What’s the point? The book is from the Americas, too. Sherlock would rather read through Shakespeare than this. At least there are murders and deaths in Shakespeare's works.

At tenth page, Sherlock’s brain is wandering away to one of his unfinished experiments, locked away somewhere in one of Mycroft’s secret hiding places. One of the 4 - no, 5 - hiding places Sherlock has yet to find.

By the 56th page, he’s just skimming over the words without taking in any meaning. He wonders if he really wants to go to university. But that will be the only place for him to get access to a decent laboratory and resources. He pulls himself together and continues reading. Until…

179\. There are several greasy-looking smears in the middle of the page, covering another one of the longest paragraphs Sherlock could care less about. Sherlock proceeds to stare at the smudges.

_Food - Colorless, well, faded? - Liquid? - No - Several attempts to erase them with water - Most likely dressing of some kind - Maybe mayonnaise? - 1 to 2 years old - Need for data._

The handwritten words at the margin next to the paragraph finally catch Sherlock’s curious eyes. They’re lightly written in soft pencil.  _Neat handwriting - Female? - No, male - The sharp curves are statistically males' - Meticulous, thoughtful - Letters lean toward the left - Left-handed, then._

‘Pardon the egg salad stains, but I’m in love.’

This. This is the moment that any set of letters, any arrangement of words has ever managed to rip through Sherlock’s chest and warm his stone-cold soul. His heart skips a beat. He stares silently at the writing. He must find this boy. A beautiful man as beautiful as the words, no doubt.

Sherlock forgets to mark the page and shuts the book. He opens the front cover and reads through the yellow check-out card, glued carelessly to the inside. A total of 5 people have checked it out in the past two years, excluding himself.

     Mark Swanson  
     Jennifer Michols  
     Benjamin Hender  
     John Watson  
     Fluer Lecter

_Mark? Benjamin? John?_

Sherlock turns the book back to page 179, beautifully painted to perfection by this stranger. He proceeds to finish the book, looking for any other evidence in the following pages. He finds none.

The next morning, Sherlock doesn’t stride into his first class half an hour before it begins, as he usually does. Instead, he runs into the school library and pesters the mousy librarian for information on his three suspects. She refuses diligently at first, but her opponent is the famous Sherlock Holmes, first year. Before he manages to break her down to tears, she gives in.

Mark Swanson has graduated the previous year. Benjamin Hender, third year, has been suspended for drug use in the school bathroom just last week. Then there’s John Watson, the second year.

_John Watson._

Sherlock swirls out the library without bothering to thank the librarian. Before he can get any farther than a step away from the building, he bumps into a short boy in an old beige jumper. The boy’s significantly shorter than Sherlock, but Sherlock is unusually tall for a kid his age. At least the boy seems fit with his broad shoulders and confident stance.

“Oops, sorry,” the boy says in his soft voice. “Excuse me.” He smiles shyly, looking up at Sherlock. He has eyes like the deep ocean water, Sherlock notices with a great amount of animosity at such poetic thought.

“No, no. My fault,” Sherlock says tersely. He’s never one to apologise for anything, but there’s something about this stranger.

“Oh, well. Okay.” The boy walks past Sherlock and puts a hand on the library door. He turns around and faces Sherlock. “John, by the way.”

Sherlock stares. “What?”

“My name. John Watson. Second year,” the boy adds rather sheepishly. “Just, if you’re curious.” He waits for a reply, but when nothing comes, he smiles awkwardly and walks in through the library door.

Sherlock immediately follows in with the copy of  _Catcher in the Rye_  in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> companion piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for liking the first chapter.
> 
> Here's the second. Hope it's not that disappointing but I'm really not creative, so...
> 
> This is it ~~for now~~.

John stares at the paragraph.

The last minute studying is really not going well. He knows that he should have spent last night studying for the quiz instead of agreeing to take Janette’s shift at the cafe. But he needs all the money he’s able to earn. Got to save up if he wants to go to medical school.

He’s honestly quite proud to say that he has the second highest mark in Chemistry, but the subject is still not his strong suit. He’d really rather take more biology classes than chem, but knowledge in only bio isn’t going to get him far in university.

 _It’s only a quiz. Only a quiz._ 20 questions. He can miss a few and still come away with a B. He’s fine with that. _Am I? Yes._ There really isn’t much point in staring at the hard words if he’s not understanding any of them. He should get some fresh air and awaken his exhausted brain instead.

John rubs his droopy eyes with the palms of his hands, stretches his arms out above his head with a big yawn, and stands up from the small desk. It’s still half an hour to go until the first class - he’ll walk around the school grounds a bit.

The lobby is slowly filling up with boisterous students who like to inhabit the rows of mahogany desks, and talk over unfinished homework and group projects. John looks over at the first years, sharing half-eaten granola bars. He feels his own stomach grumble. Maybe he’ll eat that apple he had grabbed out of Harry’s lunch bag this morning.

John passes by a tall kid towering over the mousy librarian. Mrs. Hopper is not known to be a kind lady, but John gets along fine with her - he has been spending so much time at the building, silently poring over books, that they have this mutual friendliness going on between them. _Whatever that means._

“-John Watson?”

John pauses by the door at the deep voice. _I'm in trouble._  He looks over to the reference desk and sees the glimpse of the tall kid’s sharp profile. _Am I in trouble? I must be in trouble._ But then, John Watson _is_ a common name. _Maybe he’s not talking about me. What’s going on?_

“Erm… He is in… his second year...” Mrs. Hopper speaks softly without taking her eyes off the computer screen.

There is no other John Watson in second year. John immediately walks out the door. Whatever the kid wants with him, John wants nothing to do with it. He leaps down the three steps in front of the library.

_Hold on. Apple!_

Before he takes another step, John remembers that he has left his breakfast and chemistry notebook in the library.

 _Bollocks,_ Silently cursing, John swirls around and strides back toward the building. He bumps into a bloke in a large black coat.

“Oops, sorry,” John apologises and looks up at the boy. _Oh, it’s-_ John smiles awkwardly. “Excuse me.” The tall boy’s face is rather… _exotic? Strange?_ John notes.

“No, no. My fault,” the boy says assuringly. John’s stomach tightens at the boy’s voice in a way he doesn’t want to quite understand.

“Oh, well. Okay,” John says, distracted by the loud growl his stomach makes at that exact moment. He hopes the boy hasn’t heard.

John passes the tall boy and puts a hand on the door. _Wait a minute, was that-?_ John recognises the old copy of his favourite book in the boy’s clenched hand. _Catcher in the Rye._

Instantly, he thinks back to the late night just last year. In his dark room, faintly lit by the dim glow of the desk lamp, John had hunched over the book with such intensity that he had forgotten about the fork full of egg salad. He had read and read until some of the late-night snack had dropped on the yellow page. He hadn’t been able to rub the stains off.

John turns around and faces the boy. “John, by the way.”

The boy stares blankly. “What?”

“My name, John Watson. Second year,” John says, gazing at the book. “Just, if you’re curious.” John waits a bit for a reply and when nothing comes, he smiles uncertainly at the boy’s stunned face and walks into the building.

 _Well, I suppose that’s that._  He passes by the librarian, thinking about the book. _I should read it aga-_

In that moment, John feels the long, bony fingers desperately wrapping around his own small hand.


End file.
